


Wrecking Astoria

by coricomile



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's not twenty-one or twenty-three or twenty-six anymore. He's not sure if that's something he should be proud of or something he should regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrecking Astoria

It's hiding. Pete takes one layer off to put another on, drops himself to recreate himself. Forgets for a while why he changed at all.

In the mirror, there's the signs of age staring him in the face. There's smile lines around his mouth, crow's feet at the corners of his eyes that don't quite go away when he stops smiling. He's not twenty-one or twenty-three or twenty-six anymore. He doesn't know if that's something to be proud of or something to regret.

In the bedroom, he can hear Patrick shuffling around, poking at the empty spaces where Ashlee's things once were. Vice or virtue, Patrick is something that's never changed.

Pete plugs his flat iron in and shrugs out of his hoodie. He's thicker than he was before. Not fatter, but healthier maybe. More muscle than lean, arms stronger from lifting a toddler half his size. His shoulders seem wider. His tattoos less vibrant.

He brushes his hair, combing out half wet tangles. He hasn't let his hair get long enough to straighten for a while. Too much upkeep. It feels right now though. A new old start. The hiss when the hot iron hits his damp hair is familiar.

"You're going to go bald if you keep doing that," Patrick says from the doorway. That's familiar, too.

He looks younger in all the ways Pete looks older. Pete watches him through the fogging mirror, catalogs all the things that are the same and different. For once, Patrick lets him without complaining.

Pete goes through the motions of flattening his hair, fingertips stinging every time he touches the hot strands. Patrick comes and goes, his fidgety noises like music. When Pete flicks off the iron, he listens for the sound of Patrick changing too. He wonders if it's fucked up, trying to go back to a past they both got tired of.

The eyeliner in the drawer was Ashlee's. Pete hasn't owned any in years. He'd grown out of it the same way he'd grown out of hanging out with Dirty. It takes a second to get started, hand dangling over the sink. The first line is smudgy, too thick. Pete rubs at it with his thumb and tries again.

If he squints, he can see himself as a twenty-something again, ready to pose for J-14 or Rolling Stone or Vouge. Nostalgia.

In the bedroom, Patrick's swamped in his old clothes, hat pulled down over his too bright hair.

He looks up sheepishly, kicking his legs against the mattress. He doesn't look like he did two years ago, let alone six. Pete is surprised to find that he doesn't mind.

"Want me to play something?" Patrick asks. His shins look skinny and pale against the green bedspread, ankles fragile. Pete wraps his fingers around them and leans in.

"Nah," he says. Patrick tastes like peaches when Pete kisses him- soft and sweet and a little bitter. "This is good enough for me."


End file.
